


A Cave

by Springinkerl



Series: Svynn's Ventures [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springinkerl/pseuds/Springinkerl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were Companions - shield-siblings, pack mates, drinking buddies, lovers. In one word, friends. And she had no idea how annoying he could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Azura's arse!"

Svynn narrowed her gaze to the scene below her, cursing... inwardly but with all her heart and creativity, because every sound she made would mean instant death. Well, perhaps not instant, but nevertheless certain, painful and so inconveniently inevitable.

They should have just stormed the cave and mowed down everything that lived. Who cared how many guards there were, if the entrance was barred, if there were archers or mages? In the end, it would've made no difference. They had done jobs like this dozens of times before, and they'd always succeeded.

What an incredibly stupid idea.

"I've a bad feeling about this, Farkas," she had said. "Let me scout the terrain," she had said, "and you see to clean that up. Noob." She poked the rugged cleft clotted with dirt and dried blood in her companion's upper arm, where a sabrecat had clawed into the unprotected flesh between pauldron and steelplated gauntlet, and smeared the fresh blood from her finger onto his skin.

He flinched away with a yelp but grinned at her, white pointy teeth between the grime and blood on his face. "Noob yourself," he grunted, "you're gonna have to stitch me up anyway."

And now she lay uncomfortably in the snow above the entrance to the cave they were paid to clean out and could move neither forth nor back. Below her, at least half a dozen of the hideout's inhabitants had gathered - scrubby, unkempt, badly geared and malnourished figures spreading a seedy stench that quivered up to her hiding place like a poisonous cloud, her sensible nose wrinkling under the onslaught of the foul odours of sweat, alcohol and various kinds of rot. Nobody could foresee that they'd start a picnic right now, people gathering around a couple of hunters who had brought strings of small game and a deer. But someone had started a fire, and soon the scent of roasted turkey mingled with the rest of the smells.

She didn't dare to move, pressed herself as flat as possible against the ground, her bodywarmth slowly sipping through her steelen breastplate and melting the snow below her. A drop of cold sweat ran agonisingly slow down her spine, the tickling making her want to scream.

Don't move. Don't breathe. _Don't be here._ If only one of the brigands lifted his head to check the surroundings above the cave, he'd see her silhouette against the bright sky. Every movement would reveal her with the scratching of metal on stone. A shadow wandered over her body, filtering out the sun, and she started to shiver. A cloud? A dragon? Impossible to turn and check the sky.

But there were more distractions, tiny sensations that somehow didn't fit into the scene below her, without her being able to grasp what it was exactly that made her so nervous. More an instinct than a real observation. A pebble rolling away somewhere behind her - perhaps only a rabbit or a fox. The barely noticeable scratching of metal on metal. Or was it metal on stone? Perhaps just the claw or hoof of an animal on the steep rocky slope, perhaps just an echo on the mountain flank above her. A huff on the breeze cooled her bare neck, as if someone released a controlled breath with as little noise as possible after holding it for too long.

She didn't dare to turn, but her muscles tensed, trying to bring her body into a position enabling her to leap away if the necessity occurred. Drops of sweat formed on her temples, threatened to run into her eyes. She blinked furiously, as if she could prevent it. A cramp was forming in her left calf, she felt the muscle fibers convulse and tense and the pain build up.

Don't move. Don't breathe. _Don't be here._

What an incredible stupid idea.

Something shifted behind her, and all of a sudden she was certain, not only sensed, but knew that the real danger wasn't in front her. Something approached, too quiet and furtive not to be a predator. The fine hair in her neck and on her forearms stood on end as she stopped to breathe.

_"A caaaaaaaaave. Daaaaark. Daaaaaaan... gerous."_

It was only a growl, so low and so deep it was barely over her hearing threshhold, the last syllable ending in a threatening hiss. The warmth of a breath ghosted startlingly over the damp coldness of the skin behind her ear. For a single moment, her heart stopped beating. She froze, unable to move even if she wanted to.

As instincts kicked in, the sudden stasis in her chest sped up to a frantic hammering in a split second, pulse pounding in her ears, the held breath bursting out of her ribcage in a terrified, furious scream. At the same time a bearlike grip closed around her upper arm and yanked her up, out of her uncomfortable position and behind a wall of steel and muscles, and an already notched arrow flew... right into the sudden turmoil in front of the cave entrance. It was badly aimed, but it still found its target in the side of a brigand, and his agonised scream drowned easily out her cry and heavy breathing.

Disbelief, shock and anguish stood in the faces that turned to the broad silhouette of a warrior suddenly appearing above the cave, black against the pale brightness of the sky.

Disbelief, shock and anguish stood in her face as she fell to her knees behind him, the cramp in her leg shooting with piercing pain through her thigh.

_That bastard._

Farkas roared with laughter, throwing back his head in unbridled glee, let his bow fall away and covered himself with his shield as he leaped down into the small space in front of the cave's entrance, drawing his sword while still falling. He landed with the grace of a sabrecat, tangled black hair flying around a face that showed a snarling grin, and he appeared in the midst of his enemies like a force of nature, seemingly out of nowhere, an insanely quick wall of steel and muscles wielding a whirling blade he struck like lightning.

A fast strike over an exposed throat, the edge of the shield thrashing into the ribs of another and a kick of heavy steelen boots against the knee of a third were three enemies taken out in a single motion.

After this first attack and as the numbness of surprise vanished from the faces around him, making place for fury and fear he backed off, against the rock face that rose steeply. He was reckless but not stupid, and he liked to have his back sheltered when facing more than one enemy. For a moment, he held the approaching figures easily at distance, falling into the prancing, resilient stance of defense that was second nature when facing superior numbers, enabling him to block or avoid anything they'd throw at him.

Not that they'd literally throw anything. The bandits were horribly geared, in mismatched armours, the metal parts rusty and unpolished mixed with untended, ill fitting leather pieces and armed with crude maces and notched blades. But even a hit with a simple wooden cudgel could be deadly when wielded with the strength of despair, and he had taken out only one of the whole group so far. One of seven, although the man with the arrow clutched his side and was pale with pain and the ones who had been hit and kicked were still struggling to get up again.

But all of them wore the determination to fight for their lives in their faces, though, and the circle closed around the warrior.

"Care to join in, Svi?" he roared upwards into the air. Despite his inhumanly sharp senses he had no idea where the woman was, the stench of his opponents and of the roast above the fire masking everything else, their grunts and curses and his own heavy breathing drowning out all other noises.

And then they were upon him, as by a hidden command. The attack wasn't coordinated, these people weren't trained to fight together, but they seemed to communicate through the hidden signs that were universal, distinguishing friend and foe.

A single, common foe. A friend who will shield my back when I shield his. We're stronger together than each of us is on his own.

And Farkas fought for his life, although a spectator would have mistaken it for a dance, an exercise, a performance as elegant as deadly.

The woman cowered motionless on top of the cave entrance, only partly concealed by a narrow boulder. But noone cared to search the surroundings any more, now that the obvious danger was trapped in their midst, and she watched the happenings below her with gritted teeth.

The fury still boiled in her, anger with her companion about his prank that had caught her so embarrassingly off guard and with herself for being surprised so easily. _Now let him see how to get out of this,_ she thought to herself, gloating at his efforts to defend himself against the attacks that seemed to come from everywhere at once, forcing him not only to wield his blade in elegant strikes, switching from foe to foe whenever he found an opening for a quick slash or fast hit, but also to use his shield actively like a weapon, blocking thrusts as much as using it like a battering ram with the full force of his strength.

And still, her anger was mixed with amusement, and her lips curled up when he yelled for her to join into the fight. They never granted a quarter to the other, and he knew exactly what he got himself into with his shenanigans. He expected her to let him suffer... and she knew to better live up to his expectations.

She cowered on her lookout with a grin full of mischief and had to admit, to watch him fight was a pleasure. She always liked to watch him… he was handsome and he knew it, with the well proportioned bulk of muscles, narrow hips and broad shoulders, the strong features under the always tangled, knotty mane of dark hair. More often than once they had been mistaken for brother and sister in blood when they turned up together, the woman not only taller than average, but also muscular and well trained, with the broad shoulders and strong thighs of a warrior used to work covered in steel. Added to this her blue eyes, though several shades darker than his, her broad forehead over prominent cheekbones and black hair that was cropped so short and irregular that it stood in spikes in all directions every time her fingers drove through it, and the similarities between them were striking.

But they only knew each other for three years, and of course they weren't siblings. He and his twin brother had grown up at Jorrvaskr, the Companion's hall, and she was an only child, her parents living on a farm near Solitude. But in these three years, they had become shield-siblings in every possible sense, learned to rely on each other in every situation. He had spoken for her admittance to the ancient order of warriors, he had been her forebear when she took the lycanthrophic blood that made her part of the inner circle of the Companions, and he had become the brother she always wished she'd have as a child.

And much more than that. They had become close friends fast, alike in their carefree approach of life. They were warriors and mercenaries, they killed for a living and had to face their own death too often to ponder uselessly over an uncertain future. Instead they embraced what the moment offered with all their hearts and shared the enjoyments they could give each other, be it excessive drinking and the inevitable hangover afterwards, the thrill of the hunt when they let their beasts out or a night of lovemaking with all the bliss, soreness and exhaustion that came with it. No awkwardness, no timidity was left between them, they took each other with all their quirks and flaws, no obligations tainting their relationship. They spent time apart, worked on their own or with others, took other lovers and had other friends... and still, when the going got rough they fell back on each other, and when one of them needed solace and comfort, it was the other's company where they found it.

Not that she thought he deserved comfort right now. In this moment, she wanted him to make a mistake, to get overwhelmed, just to force him to admit that he had gotten himself into something far over his head.

But to watch him like now, the epitome of a warrior, the absolute control he had over his movements, showing his natural agility as much as decades of training and fighting, the way he surveyed his surroundings and was able to assess every move of his foes, react and proact always with the glimpse of an eye ahead that granted his survival and their demise, she could do this for hours. There were blood and gore, broken bones and severed flesh, and it was beautiful.

He pierced his blade into the soft flesh of an abdomen, shattered a wrist with the edge of his shield and crunched a jawbone with a well targeted hit of the massive hilt of his sword, turning his foes one after another into heaps of corpses and bleeding flesh. But gradually his movements became slower, barely noticeably at first, his breathing growing laboured and the excited grin on his face making way for focused concentration. But the mirth never left his eyes. He knew that his shield-sister was out there, hidden, watching him. He knew he deserved it, and he admired her resolve to get her revenge. And he was dead set not only to get through with it, but to provide her with a show to remember.

But one of the brigands, a hulk of man nearly as broad and large as Farkas wielded a warhammer, an enormous weapon, the heavy steelen head holding the warrior at bay with his much larger reach. At first he held back, careful not to hit his own comrades with his wide swings, but when the human wall around their enemy thinned, he made use of the full potential of his weapon and attacked with all the force he could lay into the powerful strikes.

And he was fast. Too fast for such a heavy weapon, but he knew that he had to end this fight as soon as possible, with three of his fellows already lying dead and others injured severely. He attacked relentlessly, aimed for the limbs of his opponent where he knew he'd be able to break bones even through the heavy armour if he could only score a direct hit. But Farkas was fast as well, avoided the deadly swings of the hammer, ducked and twisted, even blocked it once with his shield, although it looked as if it would fall from his grip, his teeth clenched as he countered the impact with bulging muscles. And still another fighter beset him from his other side, whirling two daggers in fast, unpredictable attacks, searching for an opening in the defences of his foe.

He found it in the gap between pauldron and gauntlet, pierced the short blade into the muscle of Farkas' unprotected upper arm. The injury bled, but it wasn't lethal, not even dangerous, and usually the warrior would have just laughed over the scratch. But the sabrecat's claws had already ripped the flesh open once, the wound only hastily treated with a healing salve and a sloppily tied bandage, and this new attack ripped it open again. Fresh blood drenched the dirty cotton and dripped down his arm.

The reaction was immediate. An angry growl tore itself from the warrior's throat, and the last remains of complacency and playfulness left his face in an instant, replaced by a feral snarl. Lips drew back to his teeth, a deep crease formed between heavy black brows, quiet fury written into the lines of his face. And his eyes changed... the usually unfaltering pale blue gaze altered, barely noticeably at first, a dark ring appearing around the irises. But it grew, expanded towards the black centre, seemingly emitting a golden light clearly visible in the shadows of the cave entrance.

His attacker flinched back as he recognised the change, realising that provoking this foe probably wasn't the smartest idea he ever had. That – perhaps – it had been the last mistake of his miserable life.

This single moment of distraction spelled his doom, the single step the brigand made backwards enough. Farkas followed the motion, eyes locked into the fearful gaze of his opponent as if he wanted to give him a last message on his way. The blade formed an arc through the air, so fast it was nearly audible, and found its target in the unprotected neck of the man, severing the head from the torso.

Hot blood sprayed from the stump, the corpse tilting to the side and against the last man standing who had raised his warhammer in a devastating attack, aimed to shatter bones, preferrably those of a skull. The heavy weight slumping against him let him lose his balance, though, and the swing went astray, pushed further away by a forceful thrust of Farkas' shield. The weight of the weapon pulled the man around, stumbling, trying to regain his footing, but it was too late. The sword of the Companion tore through a joint of his breastplate into his side, a forceful thrust pierced it between the ribs and into his heart.

Farkas stood bent forward, palms propped on his knees and panting heavily as he took a moment to catch his breath, regarding the messy remains of this fight around him with a complacent smile. A smile that became a smug grin when he saw his shield-sister slip down the steep slope from above the cave and that she only strapped her own greatsword to her back when she had reached the ground.

He knew she would be ready to intervene if necessary. And he had shown her that it wasn't.

Her forceful punch against his shoulder caught him off guard, though, the hit shooting with sudden pain through the bleeding wound in his upper arm.

"Icebrain," she growled, "see what a mess you made." It wasn't clear if she meant the accumulation of gore he had left behind or his own injury, and he cocked a heavy eyebrow at her.

"You took too long, sister," he grinned, "I wanna be home again tonight." With an impatient motion he opened the buckles of his pauldron, shrugged it off and ripped the ragged, clotted bandage from the wound before he dropped heavily on a log at the now abandoned fireplace. "How about you finally stitch me up before we take care of the rest?"

She took place beside him, ripping pieces of cotton thread from the quill. When the wound was cleansed, she pressed the edges none too gently against each other, assessing where to put the first stitch. He clenched his teeth as the needle pierced his flesh, but gave no further sign of discomfort. Only when she tightened the knot harder than necessary, he gave a startled yelp.

"Careful, Svi! Gods, what kind of girl are you that you can't even make a proper seam?"

She wiped away the drops of blood that poured out of the stitching holes with a clean rag. "Don't be such a wimp," she grumbled, "if you had let me do that before that stunt, it would only be half as bad."

"Yeah, but this was twice the fun," he grinned through gritted teeth.

Her head jerked up, the needle left stuck in his flesh. "I knew you were there."

"No, you didn't."

"You're as subtle as a mammoth. Of course I did."

"You didn't. You screamed," he answered matter-of-factly, displaying a smirk so smug that her face flashed with renewed anger.

"Only because I couldn't believe that you're so stupid!"

He bowed his head to her, whispering into her ear. "You lie and you know it." His lips grazed teasingly over her skin, laughter quivering in his rumbling voice.

Rubbing the healing salve into the wound with more force than necessary, she gave him a cheeky grin that showed the dimple in her chin, standing in disturbing contrast to the roughness of her actions.

"And you know that you will pay for that." Her fingertips caressed the inside of his wrist as she took his hand and placed it on his bloodsmeared upper arm, urging him to press the edges of the gash together while she wound the bandage tightly around his biceps. He watched her treatment of the injury approvingly, showing no sign of discomfort, but as soon as the ends were secured, he stood up and refastened the buckles of his pauldron.

"You already had your revenge. Now it's my turn again."

"Pah," she snorted, "as if you could pull that off twice."

The grin he shot her over his shoulder as he pushed the narrow entrance open was mischievious.

"You bet."


	2. Chapter 2

They made their way through the abandoned mine, an extensive cave system that had obviously been inhabited for a long time, disgusted by the crude comfort and riches the brigands had accumulated. There were luscious carpets and noble but mismatched furniture, chests with gems, jewellery and trinkets, shelves full of valuable tomes. All of this was stolen, robbed from travelers and caravans, and the leader of this special gang had made it a habit to leave no survivors behind. His brutality had been the reason why the locals had hired the Companions to take care of the problem instead to wait until the Jarl could spare the necessary guards.

But it ended to be just an ordinary job when they found the child.

Farkas, storming ahead, stopped dead right after he ducked himself through a narrow doorway, finding his gaze captured by the sight before him.

"Hey, what's..."

Svynn's annoyed squeal when she bumped heavily into his armoured back didn't reach him, but the complaint died in her throat as the overwhelming stench of rot, vomit and piss assaulted her senses.

The room was cold and damp, the bare rock of the walls glistening with wetness, and empty besides a single wooden stool standing in a corner and a line of shackles on the back wall. Five rusty pairs of iron chains hanging from massive hooks, clinking with the gush of wind that came through the open door.

All of them but the one that was used.

A girl of six or seven years at most, nearly naked, bound by the irons to the cold, wet wall. Shackles that were fit for an adult, which meant that she could barely stand on her toes, arms and shoulders cruelly strained up- and backwards in a position that must have caused horrible pain. The small body emaciated, nothing more than knees and elbows, ribs and hipbones sticking out of a thin layer of flesh, the skin dark with dirt and bruises. An open wound on her thigh oozed blood and pus where the rags she was clad in were torn into shreds, raw red flesh visible on her wrists where the binds had abraded the skin. Wide open eyes, deep and dark from pain, hunger and hopelessless, stared at the warriors. Not a sound came from her, neither plea nor whimper.

Farkas recovered first from the shock, a suppressed curse breaking from his lips. Only when he approached the child with fast steps she jerked back, trying to pull herself up, hands clenching into fists as the thin strands of muscles in her arms proved to be too weak to hold her upright. Sudden terror was written into her face when faced with the huge, scowling warrior, bloodsmeared and with drawn blade, but the only resistance she was able to show was a pained moan as he sheathed his sword, slung an arm around her hips and lifted her up, releasing her wrists from the weight of her body.

"Have we found a key or something?" He turned to Svynn without releasing the girl, but the woman just shook her head. She had at least briefly rummaged through the corpses they had left behind, a key would have been noticed. Farkas bowed his head to the girl's, holding her tight, supporting her back with a large hand.

"We're gonna get you out. Don't be afraid. We'll get you out." His voice was a gentle rumble, but she just looked at him, frozen fear on her face, showing no reaction to his words. She showed no reaction at all any more, and this apathy crazed him more than anything. Helplessly his gaze searched around, but the room was bare, no place where the key to the shackles could have been hidden. It had to be on one of the still living bandits deeper in the cave, which also meant that they had to act fast.

He beckoned his shield-sister closer and laid the child into her arms, careful not to strain her still cuffed wrists more than necessary. Svynn had no idea what he planned when he left the room without a further word, silent fury written in his face, and even less when he came back with an armful of crude iron swords.

With the help of the blades and a heavy mace he started to tear the brackets that held the chains out of the massive rock. Not even Farkas would have been able to break an iron chain like this - at least not in his human form, and transformation was out of question - and so he had to improvise. But he was dead set to free this child before he did anything else, fury struggling with tenderness every time his gaze went over the limp body in Svynn's arms. The woman watched her companion with gentle surprise while she stroked softly over the girl's head, trying to calm her. This was a side on him she didn't know yet. Violent shivers went through the child every time the mace landed with earshattering blows on the iron he hammered into the stone to losen the cramps.

As the hooks were finally free, in the end torn out of the wall with the sheer force of his bulging muscles, she shot the panting warrior a questioning look. The girl had clenched her fingers around the chains that lay now losely on her stomach, her head resting against Svynn's shoulder, her eyes closed.

"What now? We gotta clean out here... and perhaps there are more."

Farkas gritted his teeth. "No. If there were more, they'd be in here as well." He dispatched his gauntlet and touched the girl's cheek gently. "We will clean this place. After she is safe."

She looked doubtingly at the child, not sure if she was unconscious or just sleeping. Somehow, she didn't believe the girl would sleep now. "I think we should finish here first."

"No. I take her to Riverwood."

He had that special look that meant that every discussion would be pointless, and she knew it. They were here to end the threat of the brigands, that's what they were paid for, but now all that mattered to him was the wellbeing of this strange girl. She knew he had been held captive in a cave like this as well when he was only a child, and that it had been Companions who had saved him then, him and his brother. The quiet fury gleaming in his eyes showed that he would make the people who had done this pay, though... later, and she didn't insist any further as he took the limp body from her arms.

"I wonder why the rest hasn't shown up yet," she mumbled while they made their way through the eerily silent corridors back to the entrance, "they must have heard you."

"Because they're cowards. Scum always is. Only strong in numbers or against the weakest."

Once outside he laid the child carefully on a fur lying beside the still smouldering fire and turned to his shield-sister. "You wait here for me. And we're gonna make sure they don't escape in the meantime." A sinister grin flickered over his face as he hauled an armful of firewood from a pile beside the entrance into the cave. "Let's show them how it feels to be trapped."

When the fire he had built adeptly in the middle of the first room burned brightly, he started to gather wet wood from the edge of the forest. At her questioning look, he pointed at the corpses that lay around. "Strip them, those in leather. We'll burn it."

Slowly the comprehension about his intent bloomed on her face, and she answered his grin. "Brilliant," she muttered, already slicing the armour from the first corpse. When Farkas came back with several fresh, green branches and threw them onto the blazing fire, she followed suit with the pile of leather rags that she had accumulated.

The stench was overwhelming, dense, black smoke rising from the flames.

They barred the door with the heavy trunks that were originally used to sit around the fireplace and several crates and barrells filled with salted meat and vegetables. The satisfied expression on Farkas' face as he regarded their work was devious. Small gashes between the planks of the wooden door already released fine tendrils of smoke, but the fire was far enough into the cave not to burn it.

"They will not get out," he said gravelly over his shoulder as he lifted the child in his arms, "at least not till I'm back. 't won't take more than an hour."

Svynn made herself comfortable on a raggy fur, her back against the pile of wood in front of the door, feet stretched towards the fire. Although she was curious about what was happening in the cave – the mine was large and well-ventilated enough not to fill with smoke entirely, but she hoped the inhabitants didn't know that – she didn't even think about entering it. Never to put oneself into danger alone, always to rely on a shield-sibling had been ingrained into her brain since she had joined the Companions. Even the most capable warrior was helpless all on his own when things went wrong – and it didn't take much for things to go horribly wrong. Fatally wrong. A trap overlooked, a false step, a missing swing of a weapon, a single moment of inattentiveness... even the smallest mistake could easily grant death, and surviving was way too much of a gambling game and less a question of skill when nobody had your back. Even in pairs they were outnumbered most of the time, and they were used to handle it. But with one looking out for the other, most of the time mistakes were more a nuisance than certain demise.

And so she relaxed, nibbled at the drumstick of the pheasant that had been roasting over the fire, still tender and delicate under the burnt skin, closed her eyes and savoured the afternoon sun on her face. Her hearing and smelling senses were alert, though... not only guarding her from any danger, but most of all from that brat of a shield-brother. The way he had caught her off guard still embarrassed her, but the memory also made her grin. He was a bastard, true. But he was a trustworthy, gentle and disturbingly sexy bastard, and on top of it hilariously entertaining. Impossible to be angry with him longer than the immediate rush of adrenaline lasted that he had sent through her veins.

But when Farkas came back, even less than an hour later, he did so openly, and she could hear him long before he entered the opening. She was right... he was a subtle as a mammoth. Usually.

Dropping down beside her with a broad, relieved grin he fumbled the waterskin from his belt and took a long gulp, then propped his head against the pile of wood in his back. Svynn regarded him curiously.

"Is everything okay? With the girl?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "She wants to marry me."

"What?"

He grinned boyishly. "She woke up on the way and cried. She was in pain and afraid and confused... but I could calm her. And then I met Camilla in Riverwood, and it turns out that she's the daughter of a friend of her brother. Another merchant who was ambushed not long ago and only barely escaped. Everybody thought she was dead. I left her with them, and now she wants to marry me. She was quite insistent for such a small child."

"So you stole her heart, and in less than an hour. Poor girl." Svynn laughed out, shaking her head as she scrambled to her feet. "Come on, noble knight in shining armour. Let's find a ring for your bride."

He took the hand she offered and let her pull him up, grinning cheekily. "You help me choose one?"

"Whatever makes you happy, brother. I suggest a ruby... you know, red like the eternal love you share and for the blood that you spilled for her," she giggled, already pulling away the barrier in front of the door, his laughter in her back.

"You teach me how to woo a six-year-old! Probably have some tips for our wedding night as well?"

"Of course I have!" She shot him a broad grin over her shoulder, lips pursed in feigned thoughtfulness. "First, wait at least ten years. And then let her take the top. She's far too frail for a brute like you to collapse on her."

"Good advice," he chuckled. Suddenly a heavy arm slung around her waist and pulled her back to his chest, his nose nuzzling into her hair. "I'll just have to feed her up. To make her more like you."

For a moment she leant against him and rested her head on his shoulder, then she turned to face him. Her smile was soft, a trace of seriousness under the amusement in her eyes. "You'd never marry someone like me."

He answered her gaze unwavering. "Just because you're too precious to be married."

She nudged his nose with her index. "No. Because the last thing _I_ need is a shining knight."

After they had opened the door and the reeking, oily billows of smoke had evaporated, they made their way again through the eerily silent cave. For a moment, Svynn feared that they had miscalculated, that the mine wasn't as large and deep as they had thought and that the remaining inhabitants had suffocated miserably.

But their worries turned out to be baseless when they passed through a large room with a circular free space in the middle, enclosed by a wooden barrier taller than a man, seats for an audience placed on platforms around it. Narrow tunnels led to the makeshift arena that ended in small cages filled with wildlife - mostly stray dogs and wolves, but even a couple of sabrecats waited to be set on each other for the amusement of the spectators. The noise in the room was deafening, the animals howling, barking and screeching in a cacophony of fear. Of course they had smelled the smoke, but it obviously hadn't harmed them.

Nevertheless Farkas gritted his teeth in helpless anger as he approached one of the cages cautiously, taking in the mangy, famished appearance of the wolf inside that snapped frantically after him, but Svynn grabbed his elbow.

"Later," she said sternly.

"Children and animals." His voice was rough and constrained with hate. "Always the weakest. Gutless bastards." He yanked his arm out of her grip and stormed through the exit that led further into the tunnels.

Nearly every room stood open, and even those that didn't as well as the meandering corridors were empty, often obviously left in a rush and only dimly lit by the few torches left behind. But they knew that the remaining bandits were waiting for them, probably in the deepest chamber, gathered to defend their miserable lives. It was more than just a guess... although there was no concrete hint, the breeze wafting through the endless aisles carried something that proved that they were not alone, perceptible only for their beastsenses. The scent of fear.

They knew it when they had reached their goal, a heavy, firmly closed oaken door they approached silently. They didn't know though what exactly awaited them on the other side... but there were faint noises, the distinct pattern of pacing steps, quiet whispers, the shuffling of a chair on stone.

A devious grin settled on Farkas' face, eyes darkening with excitement. They both readied their weapons, the metal making nearly no sound as it slid out of the sheaths, and then he positioned himself ready to enter, standing sideways to the door. They didn't bother to check if it was locked... chances were high that it was, and they wanted to make a slightly more impressive appearance than just to stroll in anyway.

He searched her gaze, waiting for her sign to start. "Like a mammoth," she whispered with a strained grin, then gave him a nod. He tensed, shifted his weight to his left foot, the right leg shooting up and kicking with all his strength and weight against the iron lock. The impact of the steelnailed heel on the metal was earshattering and accompanied by the splintering of wood, the yell of a woman standing right behind the door and the belligerent roar of the Companion as he stormed into the room. He turned immediately to the side, placing himself with his back to the wall beside the door, Svynn rushing in at his heels and to his side. A single glance was enough to assess the situation.

The fireplace in the far corner was cold, the room only dimly lit. And it was smaller than expected, appearing nearly crowded with half a dozen people inside, people who now jumped to their feet and drew their weapons. All of them were armed and armoured, noone busy with leisure activities, and still the Companions' unreckoned assault had worked surprisingly well.

The moment the outlaws needed to catch their senses was enough for the warriors to get into the routine of the fight. They weren't here to defend themselves but to bring death and doom, even if they were outnumbered more than three to one. Back against back they moved a few steps into the room, meeting their attackers with whirling blades and powerful strikes.

No movement got by unnoticed, the both of them watching and judging everything happening around them, weighing their foes and their abilities. Most of them only wielded simple, cheap weapons, maces or shortswords. Those that carried a shield did just that – _carry_ it, a dead weight strapped to their wrists. None of them knew how to _use_ it. An orc swang a greatsword with more strength than finesse, and a woman had climbed onto a table in the back, nocking arrow after arrow. They turned slightly so Farkas faced the archer, his shield the better protection against the missiles.

When the first full force of the onslaught set in, a shiver seemed to go through the Companions. Senses awoke, not entirely human but controlled by routine and experience, taming the frenzy that always threatened to take over, and they became aware of their surroundings as much as attuned to each other. Trust in their skill soothed the raw excitement of the fight, guiding them into the balance between fury and prudence.

The air became thick in their mouths and noses, sated with scents. Fear and pain, the copper of blood and the acid of sweat.

Nothing got past them, and they moved like a unity, watched and reacted to the flow of the fight in a way only they were able to, and only together. Every attack, every pained cry, every wound they inflicted, every life they ended was a victory of their connection, forged through trust and blood.

With the thrill of the fight came the overwhelming feeling to be alive. Svynn felt the unity of herself and her wolf with every fibre, felt the man behind her and the beast inside of him that called out to her. It was satisfaction. They didn't have to let them out to feel the fulfilment of the hunt.

When it ended, it was over far too sudden. The last corpse fell limp from her blade, and all that was left was this piece of dead meat and the human in her back, so much alive. They turned at each other, golden gazes searching, locking, tangling into each other. It was strange how it couldn't just end like the life she took only a second ago, how her mind refused to accept that the hunt was over. Blood boiled and wouldn't calm down, not just so. She held her breath in an attempt to ease it, but it didn't work.

Not so easily.

He stalked towards her, teeth bared in glee and excitement. The bandage at his upper arm was drenched in fresh blood. It had to hurt, but he didn't feel it.

The hunt was not over. Not yet, they had fought but not fed, something was missing. Hunger lingered in their eyes, in the way he approached her and she awaited him, and they were there for each other like always, brother and sister and mates. Still panting she slowly squared her shoulders under his scrutiny and discarded her gauntlets, walked towards and past him, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of his neck. As she left the room, she was already busy opening the buckles of her pauldrons, the metal dropping to the ground with a sound too loud in the silence of the cave.

There was a room waiting for them, with a fire and piles of furs spread over the ground that she entered with him on her heels, undisturbed and empty. The stench of fresh blood faded from their senses, they turned on each other, nostrils flared, taking in the scent of their intimacy. The hunt wasn't over yet and they were matching each other, and they got rid of their armours with precise motions, each of them discarding his own because it was faster than to undress each other.

Urgency and trust in their faces, not a word was exchanged, no words were needed. Laboured breath didn't get opportunity to ease, and now it heated up again, ghosting over skin like a warm caress as he braced himself against the wall on both sides of her shoulders, embracing as much as trapping her, being shelter and challenge all in one. He bucked into the cradle of her hips, letting her feel the raw need that devoured him.

He would devour her instead.

She pulled him close, calloused fingertips drawing traces over his skin, feeling out old scars and new scratches. A groan escaped his throat as he buried his face in her neck and sucked in her scent. "Too precious," he murmured, it made her laugh and she palmed his face, kissing him with teeth, lips and tongue, tasting and sucking and biting. The ravenous craving they felt for each other flared up in this kiss, hunger not sated, but the desire enriched with familiarity and comfort.

He didn't resist as she pressed her palms against his chest, urging him to walk backwards until he felt the softness of fur under his naked feet, but he drew her with him, lips grazing over her throat, his embrace tightening as they tumbled down into a heap of limbs. Playfulness mixed into the desire in his eyes as he felt her wriggle and stretch on top of him, and he rolled them around with a swift motion, trapping her under his bulk. Their eyes locked in a silent struggle as she lifted her head and claimed his mouth, arched against his body, craving for his touch.

A grin flitted over his face but he complied, sent his hands on the paths they were so acquainted with. He loved to touch her, curves and muscles under soft skin, and he knew where and how she loved to be touched most, how to entice those sounds from her that drove him crazy and that she loved to watch him while he explored her. When he lowered his head, lips ghosting over the curve of her neck and her collarbone, his hand leaving the peak of her breast and wandering deeper, following her hips until it cupped her sex, she braced herself on her elbows, halflidded eyes searching his gaze.

But he buried his face between her breasts and breathed in deeply, let his tongue taste the skin. He turned to the side, his leg hooked over her thigh and still locking her, preventing her bucking into his fingers, and forced his heavy breathing to calm down. Her chest heaved under him, and he felt a hand tangling into his hair, urging him on. When he remained motionless, seemingly not far from falling asleep, she tensed.

"Farkas." Her voice was rough, containing a threat as much as a pleading. As he turned his head to meet her gaze, a wolfish grin curled his lips, and he arched a questioning eyebrow. The heel of his hand pressed down on her mound, lightly, teasingly, her breath catching in her throat.

"Farkas. Not now." Fingers clawed into his shoulders, tried to pull him up. But he wasn't to be moved when he didn't want to move, and he remained where he was. He liked it there, after all. His tongue flicked against a stiff nipple.

"What?" The fingers between her thighs curled once, slowly, balled into a fist and stretched, resting again. He felt the muscles in her legs convulse with tension and the soft flesh hot and damp against his palm.

"You bastard," she breathed, as if it wasn't meant for him to hear. With a swift motion he came up and thrust his tongue into her mouth, swallowing the breathless gasp he caused as he pressed in and his finger sank into her flesh. She drank from him, sucked his lower lip between her teeth and bit down, her hands trailed up his sides and left red welts behind, but he was relentless, stroking slowly while holding her firm, found the point that made her whimper.

"My turn," he murmured and withdrew from her lips, trailed a trace of scorching heat down her throat that worked silently under his caress, over the stiff peaks of her breasts, relishing in the sounds she made as he grazed his teeth over them, went deeper, circled her navel and admired the play of the taut muscles of her abdomen until he knelt between her thighs, his fingers still deep inside of her. As he bent down and huffed a hot breath against her core, her heady, musky scent nearly made him lose control. A shiver went through her body as he set soft kisses on the insides of her thighs, then let his tongue dip into the moistness.

He looked up to her face, eyes sparkling. "Svi?"

She answered his gaze, eyes dark with lust and frustration. And a hint of amusement. "Please." It was only a whisper.

He chuckled, his stubble teasing the tender skin. "Scream for me, Svi. Again."

Her lips pressed into a stubborn line as she met his grin. She tried to break out of his grip, to force him to his back and take control, but he had braced himself on her hipbones, needed only his weight to keep her down.

"Icebrain..."

His laughing gaze stayed on her face, but his finger curled in retaliation, rubbed hard against the spot that made her head fall back helplessly. Her breathing was shallow and laboured.

He didn't answer, lowered his head instead and showed mercy, and her breath came out in a hiss as he tasted her.

When he felt the muscles of her abdomen harden and her body shake under him, her thighs clenched around his head and her breathing hitched, he inhaled deeply. His voice was barely audible, vibrating against the tender, sensitive flesh under his lips and deep into her core.

_"A caaaaaaaave. Daaaaark. Daaaaaan... gerous."_

White light exploded behind her lids. She laughed and sobbed and screamed his name.

_That bastard._

The first she saw when she was able to focus again were his eyes, pale gaze over clenched teeth. He hovered above her, his forearms braced on both sides of her head.

"I won," he whispered, his smile tender and predatory and hungry. He would devour her and she knew it, and she arched into his embrace as he claimed his prize.

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Disclaimer: Skyrim is Bethesda's.


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